Sunday, April 25, 2010

Solitude Early Sunday

It's the two o'clock hour here in the Pacific Northwest. Lately I've been remiss when it comes to blogging on the weekend. Having too much fun I suppose. Not that blogging isn't fun. It's just that on the weekend there are other priorities, like father-son time; bonding time with my partner; and a few moments here and there just to relax. Today was a big father son day, with the highlight being a trip to "Pump it Up!" in Lynnwood to celebrate the birthday of a classmate from Justin's co-op class. I stood in the room filled with jumper rooms, large inflatable slides, and an inflatable obstacle course -- and wondered why cheesy 70's music was blasting from the house speakers. The choice must have come from some forty or fifty-something manager, because the staff would surely have chosen something more contemporary...and possibly more hideous. I label the music "cheesy 70's," but it's stuff I often listen to at home.

At the moment I'm listening to the Who's "Tommy" opera. This afternoon I stopped off at the library to pick up a couple of CDs, one of them being the Who's "Face Dances" -- Not their best album by any means. In the car with me was my four-year-old son, and my seventeen-year-old stepson(?) The 17-year-old opined that he thought Jimi Hendrix was better than the Who. I actually never thought to compare the two. They are certainly both essential to the rock and roll catalogue. He would naturally admire Jimi Hendrix more, because my S.O.'s son is guitar player himself. I think Pete Townshend belongs in the Guitar God category, but he has his own specialty being power chords. His slashing windmill chords express an aggressive prowess like no other guitarist, but he doesn't take fancy lead guitar solos under the spot light with dry ice fog billowing about.

I have a little more downtime before I really should be turning in. At dinner I tried to get my son to promise to sleep in until at least 9 a.m., but I might as well have been asking him to cook me breakfast and draw me a hot bath while he's at it. Not very likely. Instead the doorknob to our bedroom will start rattling at about 7 a.m., and then Justin will come bounding in, and up onto our beds, crushing ribs,and gouging kidneys in the process. He'll claim that he wants to lay in bed with us, but then he will begin to do the horizontal jitterbug. Tomorrow afternoon I'll be the one needing the nap, after Justin returns to his mom's house.

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